


a good daddy

by Pinkmanite



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Age Difference Kink, D/s elements, Daddy Kink, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:35:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: "He's a good guy. He's a good daddy for me." —Adam Boqvist (2018)





	a good daddy

**Author's Note:**

> hi I'm aware that I am a terrible human being, but sometimes life hands you things on a silver platter, hand delivered on your doorstep, and the opportunist in you just cannot refuse  
>  (yes [Adam really did say that](https://twitter.com/MarkLazerus/status/1042159616824492033) in real life, he really truly did)

**** It’s funny, because English has always been his best subject, maybe even his favorite subject. He’s always been pretty good about practicing it, about getting the proper slang down, about learning things like the difference between ‘booty call’ and ‘butt dial’. 

So the truth is, Adam knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly what he means, when he says it.

“He’s a good guy,” and he grins, eyes flicking over to where Brent is watching him from the side, behind the crowd of reporters. Not that anyone else would know, but it’s deliberate, the way the corner of his mouth turns up, just a little, not nearly noticeable enough. And then, “he’s a good daddy for me.”

He enunciates the word —  _ daddy  _ — enough that he knows Brent will hear it, knows that it’ll hit him, knows exactly what it’ll do for him.

The reporters try not to laugh, do their best to keep face. Adam just smiles wider, laughs lightly, and pretends he hasn’t said a thing out of the ordinary. After all, all he has to do is turn up the wide eyes, smile politely enough, and it won’t even matter; he’ll have them all eating out the palm of his hand, just like that. 

That goes for Brent, too. Maybe the most, actually.

He knows they’ll laugh it off, knows they’ll chalk it up to the language barrier, won’t even give it a second thought. But Brent knows him well enough by now to know better. Brent knows exactly what he’s doing.

Brent walks right up to him as soon as the media clears, and he isn’t amused. Which is quite contrary to Adam, who grins at him wickedly, blinks his long lashes innocently enough. 

“Hi,” Adam pushes, voice soft. Brent isn’t that much taller than him, but enough where he can look up at him when they’re close enough together. Adam knows which buttons to push, and just how exactly to push them. 

“Really, Adam?” And Brent crosses his arms, forcing just a little bit more distance between them. “Daddy?”

Adam’s not stupid, he takes a quick look around the room first, satisfied to find it empty. He leans in, close enough that he brushes against Brent’s arm, his hand, his knuckles. Then, when he’s close enough for Brent to feel the warmth of the breath in his words. “But I always call you daddy. You  _ are _ my daddy.”

And, with great satisfaction, Adam waits patiently when he see Brent close his eyes and hears Brent breath in quickly though his nose. He waits patiently until Brent grabs him by the back of the neck, all in a rush, and leads him toward the exit.

“Text Jake and tell him you won’t be home.”

“That’s going to make him more worried,” Adam says, difficult.

“Fine,” Brent says, “I’ll text him.”

Adam hums, satisfied, and doesn’t miss the was Brent sighs, put-out, but still fond.

They make it to the parking lot and Adam instinctively goes to Brent’s car while he lags behind, concentrated on typing out a text to Jacob with his thumbs. Adam shakes his head and tugs at the locked car door, fully aware that he’s being annoying.

“Relax,” Brent mumbles, still concentrated on his phone. He makes Adam wait while he finishes up, then takes his time to fish out his keys and unlock the doors. Petulant, Adam slides in and maybe slams the door just a little too hard. But Brent doesn’t give in, doesn’t even bat an eye.

The radio starts automatically playing, it’s a satellite station, unfortunately dedicated to country. Brent seems to know the song, taps his fingers on the wheel along to the beat. And because Adam is being a brat on purpose, he doesn't hesitate and reaches out to change the channel.

But Brent must’ve anticipated as much, because he doesn’t miss a beat in smacking his hand away. 

“Behave,” Brent growls, “or I’ll turn around and drop you off at home.” 

Adam huffs, acting every ounce of the teenager he is. It’s stark reminder of what exactly they’re doing here, and it shakes Brent, of course it does. But then Adam does stay still, does stay quiet, even as he bites at his bottom lip and plays with the hem of his sleeve. 

Brent swallows. He considers really turning around, delivering Adam back to Jacob, back with the rest of the  _ kids _ , so he can play video games and order take-out and do whatever it is the rest of the kids do together. 

He’s about to say something, about to ramble some weak excuse to give Adam an out, but then Adam turns, looks at him with bright blue eyes. “You wouldn’t, I know you wouldn’t.”

It takes Brent a minute to realize what he’s replying to, but then he shrugs, laughs. “Wanna find out?”

And Adam shakes his head, cocks his head to the side and looks up at Brent through his lashes. “I’ll be good, daddy.”

Brent sputters. This boy will be the end of him.

 

~

 

It’s breathtaking, really, the sight of Adam laid out on his bed like an offering, just for him. 

He’s strewed out, limbs askew and hair, long and golden, fanned out beneath his head. He hasn’t bothered to strip yet, but his tee shirt clings to him, rides up just enough to show his belly button. His sweats are riding low enough that Brent can see the elastic of Adam’s underwear, clinging to his hips.

He looks up at Brent, expectant, impatient. 

And who is Brent to deny him?

Yet, as much as he indulges Adam, he still takes his time, knees his way onto the bed, never breaking eye contact. He hovers over him while he undoes his own belt, his own pants. Adam watches every move, breath even but visible in the rise and fall of his chest.

Brent doesn’t remove his clothes all the way, partially because he gets distracted by the temptation of skin across Adam’s middle. He brushes his hands over it, light, at first. But then he goes for it, runs his hands flat over Adam’s abs and his chest and his nipples, warm under his shirt. 

He does this a few times, teases Adam’s nipples with every pass, until Adam’s shirt is bunched up right under his armpits. Adam licks his lips, daring, so Brent grabs the hem and works it up over the boy’s arms and head. Adam helps him as much as he can, moves when directed. 

Brent leans down until he’s an inch from Adam’s skin. He starts at his navel, swirls his tongue around it, gentle, at first. But then Adam whines from somewhere above him, high, then choked off. Stifled. 

“Hey,” Brent murmurs, lips just brushing over Adam’s skin, “don’t hold back from me. I want to hear you.”

“Okay, daddy,” Adam manages. “Just. Please.”

Brent answers by swirling his tongue again, then licks a broad stripe from the hem of Adam’s underwear, back up to his navel. He kisses the skin just to side, gentle, but then goes back in, sucks an almost-hickey in the same spot. Adam squirms, lets another noise slip. 

So Brent continues, leaves a trail of bites along his abdomen until he gets to his hip. He glances up, takes in the sight of Adam’s head tilted back, arms thrown over his face. It spurs him on, enough for Brent to dance his fingertips teasingly over the hem of Adam’s underwear, light brushes and quick little tugs.

“Yes, please,” Adam pushes, “please, please, please.”

That’s all Brent needs to tug down Adam’s pants and underwear all at once, leaves it bunched around his ankles. His cock bounces free, already hard, must’ve  _ been _ hard, for a while now. Brent grins, face just inches away from it.

“What would you like, baby?”

Adam swallows, and Brent can see the bob of his adam’s apple. “Um, can you… in your mouth?” And it’s quiet,  _ embarrassed _ . 

Brent can work with that.

“What’s that? You’re going to have to be more clear, boy.”

Adam breathes in, then louder, “your mouth, please.”

But Brent likes the way his cheeks go red, likes the way Adam gets when he flustered and out of his element. When he gets put in his place. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Come on,” Adam protests, “are you really going to make me?”

Brent doesn’t say anything, just gives him a pointed look. 

“Fine” Adam huffs. “Can you please suck my dick, daddy?”

Brent grins. Brent leans in. Brent even puts the tip in his mouth.

But then he pops off and sit up, looks down at Adam wickedly. 

“I would, but you haven’t really been a good boy, have you, Adam?”

“Yes I have,” Adam fires back, defensive and childish. “I’ve been so good, I’ve been the best, I’ve been—”

“You’re only making it worse,” Brent cuts in, amused. “You know fully well what you did today, and you knew exactly what you were doing when you did it.”

But then Adam grins, cheeky. “But I told everyone how great my daddy is to me. Aren’t I a good boy?”

Brent feels a pang in his chest, in his stomach, and he hates it because he knows it’s exactly what Adam is trying to do, it’s exactly the rise he’s trying to get out of him. And it works, a little bit, because it fuels Brent with a new wave of want, a renewed sense of urgency.

“Turn around,” is all Brent says, stern.

Adam knows better than push him more, because this is what he wants, really. So he listens, doesn’t utter another word, and obediently turns over onto his forearms and knees.

“So now you’ve decided to be good, huh? Is that it? Be a brat until you get what you want?”

Adam doesn’t reply, but he buries his face in the pillows and whines, back arched for Brent, just for Brent, all for Brent.

It’s overwhelming, the picture of Adam, still young and naive and so fucking trusting, offered up like this, just for him. The weight of the that responsibility rests heavy in Brent’s hands, in Brent’s  _ head _ , and he should know better, he really, really should. And maybe he does, deep down.

But Adam is right there, right in front of him, ready for the taking. And Brent is only so strong.

“Fuck,” he says without thinking, breathy. Adam whines from beneath him.

Indulgent, Brent grabs a fist full of Adam’s ass, round and pert from a lifetime of hockey conditioning. Impulsive, Brent lets go, just to reel his hand back and smack one of Adam’s ass cheeks, hard enough to leave the imprint of his hand, red and stinging. 

Adam yelps, more from surprise than the actual sting, but he wiggles his ass a little, maybe without realizing. It’s enticing. Brent does it again. Twice actually, in succession.

“You hands are so  _ big _ ,” Adam gripes, whiny. But he doesn’t protest, so Brent laughs, and spanks him again.

“You like it, though, don’t you, baby boy?”

There’s a beat, the Adam tosses his hair to one side with a jolt of his head. He turns to look back over his shoulder, and smiles, cocky, but equally laced in innocence, naivety, even. “I like everything you do to me. See? You  _ are _ a good daddy.”

That seems to do it for Brent, because something clicks and can’t hold back anymore. It’s all in one swift move, one where he yanks off his shirt and leans over Adam until he’s pressed skin to skin against him, lets him feel some of his weight, his full coverage. He grabs a fist full of Adam’s hair, long enough for him to easily tangle his fingers in.

He yanks his head back and kisses him, hard and greedy and selfish. Their teeth clash together, a little meanly, but Adam moans into it, leans into Brent’s grip, melts into his hands like putty. Brent suck at his bottom lip, harsh, bites at it just a little, and it drives Adam crazy, makes him squirm in Brent’s hands.

“Come on,” Adam says, raspy, worked, “please, daddy.”

“Please what?” Brent pushes, even as Adam presses up against him, pushes his ass right onto Brent’s erection, telling enough. “Ask nicely,” Brent prompts him, when he doesn’t reply right away.

“Please  _ fuck _ me,” Adam finally manages, like it’s sucker punched out of him. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” Brent murmurs, already going for the lube. They’ve done this enough times already that Brent knows how Adam likes it, knows just the right angle, just the right way to do it so Adam falls apart.

“Now,” Adam manages between shaky breaths, somehow still just as cocky and demanding as ever. 

“Impatient,” Brent says, but withdraws his fingers, even as he says it. He wipes them off on Adam’s thigh, dirty and careless, but doesn't miss the way Adam leans into it, doesn’t miss the sound he makes. 

Brent lines himself up, presses at Adam’s entrance but doesn’t push in. It’s just enough to rile Adam up, enough to tease until he groans, frustrated, and tries to push back on it. 

“Nice try,” Brent tuts, one hand firm on Adam’s hip, keeping him still. “Tell me why you deserve my dick, because clearly you haven’t been a good boy.”

Adam groans, frustrated, face buried in his arms. “I’m good, I’m good, I swear I’m good.”

“You really think that?” Brent grinds just a little bit more inside him, then pulls back. “Or would you just say anything to get a good dicking?”

Adam nearly sobs, desperate, “whatever you want, please, just.”

“See? I was right,” Brent thumbs a circle on Adam’s hip, soothing. “You’ll do anything to get dicked down good and well. Admit it.”

“Please,” is all Adam says, quiet.

“I said admit it, boy.” Brent is stern, smacks his ass again, barely holds back.

“Okay, okay,” Adam breathes out, “I’ll do anything, daddy. Anything you want, just to get fucked good.  _ Please _ .”

Brent leans down again, whispers in his ear. “Not so bad, right, baby boy?”

Then without any other warning, pushes in, steady and firm until he’s in all the way, surrounded in tight heat, balls pressed hot against Adam’s skin. 

“Hah,” Adam makes a noise, incoherent, and shaky with the impact of it. He’s still adjusting, still clenched tightly around Brent’s dick, unsure if he’s trying to keep him in or push him out. 

Brent stays there for a second, more or less still, but periodically grinds a little bit, just in the general direction of where he remembers Adam’s prostate to be. He watches Adam’s breaths carefully, keep an eye on his facial expressions. 

He’s not quite ready yet, but he’s getting there, so Brent licks his thumb and tucks it between Adam’s cheeks. He traces around his rim, where it’s stretched wide around the base of Brent’s dick, where it’s twitching under his touch. 

“So pretty here,” Brent goads, watches as Adam’s face heats up. His hair hangs in his face and he uses it, tries to hide behind it, but Brent won’t have any of that. He reaches out, uses his fingers to brush it back, tucks it behind his ear.

“That’s better,” Brent hums. Adam looks back at him, and there’s something there, some kind of awe, that hits Brent with smack in the face. He looks at Brent like he’s hung the moon, and maybe for an eighteen year old ( _ god _ ) trying to make it in the NHL, Brent  _ has _ done that, if not, the next best thing. 

And Brent’s known that, ever since Adam first introduced himself, ever since Adam marched right up to him and started asking a million questions a minute, ever since he started hanging around.

But it’s so much more, right now and in the moment, and maybe it’s embarrassing, whatever it is that stirs in the pits of Brent’s stomach, but he recognizes what it is and it’s… it’s overwhelming. 

Instead of dealing with it, he groans, dick twitching where it’s still pressed inside Adam.

“Please,” Adam says, quiet, and that’s all it takes to convince him.

Brent doesn’t hold back, knows what Adam can take by now and makes him take it. Adam loses his balance where he’s holding himself up, sinks into the mattress in a tangle of arms, chest sliding across the sheets with every thrust. But Brent keeps a proper grip on his hips, pulls him right back into it. He knows he’ll leave his mark, bruises shaped like his hands on Adam’s pale skin.

“Fuck, baby, still so tight for me,” Brent says, low and throaty. He grinds into him, holds him up, mindful not to touch Adam’s dick where it bobs across his stomach. Mindful to make sure Adam can’t get any of the friction he’s trying to chase.

“Want daddy to touch you?” Brent leans down to suck at his neck. “Ask for it, baby boy.”

Adam doesn’t say words at first, because Brent doesn’t pause, is still fucking steadily into him. He lets out a few punched out breaths, first, opens his mouth, closes it again. But then he screws his eyes shut, concentrated. 

“Daddy, please touch me, I’ll be a good boy.”

Brent grins, kisses Adam softly behind his ear, along his jawline. He sits back up, runs a hand along Adam’s spine, pressing down just enough to keep him down, to get him to arch up into him the way he likes.

And then he wraps his hand around him, smears the pre-come from the tip down and over his hand, more than enough to get a steady hold, enough to pump him from base to tip.

He keeps the rhythm, keeps it in time with his thrusts, and Adam lives for it. He’s panting, hot breaths and high whines, a jumble of English and Swedish dripping from his lips in a string of nonsense.

Brent basks in it, soaks it all in. It’s breathtaking, really, the sight of Adam laid out on his bed, falling apart just for him. He’s needy, unsure if he should push back into Brent’s cock or forward, into Brent’s hand, but somehow tries to do both, focused on his pleasure. It’s amusing, his youth, his energy, but more than anything, it turns Brent on that much more.

It’s not long, no time at all, before Adam comes, unannounced save for the choked off yelp he makes, and the way he clenches around Brent’s dick, impossibly tight. Brent fucks him through it, milks it out of him, until he’s done and putty in Brent’s hold.

He’s about to pull out, about to finish himself off, when Adam must get what he’s doing and works up enough energy to stop him.

“Keep going,” he says into the mattress, but it’s clear enough for Brent to understand him perfectly well. 

But Brent hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Adam exasperates, then pushes his ass back until he’s pressed up against Brent again. “I’m absolutely sure.”

So Brent doesn’t ask again, he presses back in, all the way, and watches Adam carefully, ready to pull out at the first sign of discomfort.

But instead, Adam smiles, just a little, the corner of his mouth, and closes his eyes, satisfied, taking in as much of it, as much of  _ this _ , as possible. Brent swallows. Brent is suddenly very close. 

He grips at Adam’s hips and goes at it, in and out and in and out, rhythm messy, sporadic, but going for what feels good, for what he wants, uninhibited. 

“Daddy loves this,” he murmurs, more for himself than anything, but Adam squirms under him, manages more than a couple indecipherable groans.

“I wanna be good for you, daddy,” Adam says all in one breath, “Am I a good boy now?”

And that’s it, that’s all the push Brent needs. He slams all the way in, enough for Adam to yell, strangled, as he feels Brent come. Brent’s weight is on him, his forehead pressed into his back until he can come back to himself, the euphoria washing over him, gone as quickly as it comes.

He pulls out carefully, then rolls onto his back, laid out alongside Adam, their sides pressed together.

It’s another moment, one where Adam collects himself again, but then he’s moving, throwing his lanky limbs over Brent’s whole body, tangling his legs between Brent’s, fitting his head on Brent’s chest. 

When Brent looks down, Adam’s eyelashes are wet, his eyes just a little red, but his breath is even and he’s smiling softly, content. Brent combs a hand through his hair, once, twice, then lets it rest on the nape of neck, uses it to pull him in close.

He kisses the top of his head.

“Was that good?” Adam says, soft and unsure. 

Brent won’t have any of that. “Absolutely perfect,” he hums into his hair. He moves, just a little, enough so he can kiss Adam on the lips this time, slow and chaste.

And it’s incredible, the effect his words have on this kid. He beams up at him, like he’s won an award, and it makes Brent’s heart melt, to know how proud Adam is, just to please him. 

“Come on, sleep now. I’ve got you.”

Brent knows he’s in over his head. But for this, he’s willing to deal with the consequences later. For now, he takes what he can, while he still can. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
